Collective Thoughts
by The Enchanted Quill
Summary: A collection of one shots featuring Draco and Hermione.
1. Letter To Hermione

**Disclaimer:** This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Warner Bros Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

**A/N:** Hello everyone! This one is going to be a collection of one shots. Hope you guys will like it. Reviews are much appreciated! :)

**1\. Letter To Hermione**

* * *

Mrs. Granger was smoothing out her daughter's veil when she heard a gentle knock on the door. She opened the door only to find there was no one there, just a small envelope addressed to her daughter.

"Hermione, look," she said, walking back over, "you've got a letter."

Hermione felt a smile play at her lips. Her soon-to-be husband was so thoughtful. She sighed softly and took the envelope from her mother's hands. The script was plain, the words "To Hermione on her wedding day" written in charcoal ink.

Mrs. Granger dabbed at her eyes and smiled at her daughter. "I'll leave you alone, dear. Your father will be here shortly."

Hermione opened the envelope and a small silver key fell out into the palm of her hand. Perplexed, she took out the folded parchment and read.

_Dearest Hermione,_

_Today is your wedding day. It's been all over the paper for weeks now. I'm trying to be happy for you. You seem happy in all of the photos I've seen. God knows you deserve a little happiness after all I put you through. Seeing your face in the papers brings back lots of memories. I've been trying to forget them. I guess I'm writing to you on your wedding day because this is my last chance. I need to absolve myself of the pain and guilt I feel before it's too late. Maybe then, I'll be able to sleep at night. Maybe then, I'll be able to close my eyes and not be haunted by the memory of you. Maybe then, I'll remember to breathe._

_I think in the back of my mind, I knew all along that you would end up with Weasley. He doesn't deserve you, of course, but neither did I. It's been two years since you left; since I pushed you away. I replay the past in my head, over and over. What if I hadn't overheard you and Potter? What if I had been strong enough to ask you about it before I started flinging accusations? Would you have stayed? Would you still love me? Would it be my arms in which you fall asleep at night? The past two years have been a hazy cloud of "what ifs" for me._

Hermione nodded. The past two years of her life had been nothing but "what ifs" also. She tried to pretend that their break up hadn't affected her. And she was good at hiding. No one knew how much she still thought of him. Hermione had everyone convinced that Ron was the love of her life. She thought she had herself convinced of that, too, until she started reading this letter, written in Draco's impeccable hand.

She sighed heavily and thought about that night.

_**She had just come home from work to find all of her belongings packed up. Draco was sitting on the arm of their sofa, his face devoid of all emotion.**_

**_"Draco?" Hermione asked, puzzled by his coldness._**

**_"You're leaving." His voice was flat, lifeless._**

**_Hermione felt like she had been socked in the stomach. "What?"_**

**_"You're leaving. Far be it from me to stand in your way. I've even taken the initiative to have your things packed."_**

**_"Is there a particular reason why I'm leaving? I get no choice in this at all?"_**

**_Draco laughed, a mean, wicked laugh that Hermione would spend the next two years trying to erase from her memory. "Darling," he said quietly, "you already made your choice."_**

**_Hermione was starting to seethe. "What the hell is going on?"_**

**_He picked up a picture of the two of them and held it in his hands. Gazing at the picture, at the smiles he and Hermione wore on their faces, he whispered, "I heard you._**

**_"My only question," he continued, throwing the picture against the wall and ignoring Hermione cringing as the glass shattered, "is how long have you been fucking him? Weeks? Months? The entire time we've been together?"_**

**_"Who? Why in the world would you think I would do that to you? Are you out of your mind?" Hermione was visibly upset, her brown eyes filling with tears. "I don't know who you've been talking to, Draco, but nothing has been going on between me and anyone. Ever."_**

**_Again, Draco laughed._**

**_"Which is why you were explaining to Potter that you couldn't tell me the truth? That it would break my heart? I've got ears, Hermione, and they work fairly well. I heard you tell him that last night. If you were going to whore around behind my back, the least you could do is not get caught."_**

**_Hermione managed a smile, her face brightening. "Draco, you've no idea how much you misunderstood."_**

_**She tried explaining to him that Ron had feelings for her, but that she didn't reciprocate. That's why she said what she said to Harry. The truth would have broken Ron's heart. For him to be rejected by the girl he loves because she wanted to be with someone he hated would have killed him.**_

_**It all went horribly, horribly wrong. Awful things were said; breakable things were thrown. Hermione had begged, pleaded and cried until she had nothing else to give. Damn Draco Malfoy's stubborn insecurity. So she left. And she went to the only place she knew she'd find comfort.**_

_Everything you said about me was true. I am a coward. I didn't believe in us enough to listen to you. When I heard you whispering to Potter that "the truth would break his heart", I honestly thought you were talking about me. Looking back, it's no surprise that Weasley was in love with you. I think we all were. Are. I was terrified at the thought of losing you. I was terrified that you didn't love me anymore. So, I did it. I made you feel pain. I humiliated you. I wanted to hurt you before you could hurt me. The look on your face when we said goodbye plagues my dreams. It is the last image I see every night before I fall into the darkness._

Two weeks after the blow-out, Hermione sent Harry over to try to talk to Draco. It had gotten ugly. Harry came back, his right eye starting to bruise.

"Hermione, he's heartbroken. He won't listen to me… tried to hex me, the daft bastard." Harry sat down next to her and handed her a handkerchief. "I think he knows he was wrong. He just can't admit it."

Hermione looked up. "I want to be with him. Why can't he see that?"

Harry shrugged. "He said the same thing about you. He said 'I love her. But tell me, where is she staying right now?'"

And Hermione's heart hurt more than ever when she realized how it must look to Draco. He accused me of sleeping with Ron, she thought, and where did I scamper off to when I left? Ron's.

Too tired, too heartbroken to figure everything out, she gave up. She let Ron comfort her. She convinced herself that Ron's touch would be enough. That she loved him just enough to make it work. And the weeks passed, the seasons changed, and here she was. Getting married to Ron. Today. And Draco was writing to her.

Hermione put her head in her hands and sobbed. All the emotions she had locked down deep inside herself were bubbling back up to the surface. Nearly ten minutes passed before her eyes were dry enough to continue with the letter.

_I still go there, you know. "Our" place. That's what the key unlocks. In case you ever need to talk to me. I doubt you'll ever want to go there, but I need you to know that I'll be there. Everything is exactly the same. I even replaced everything I broke. Sometimes, if I'm having trouble falling asleep at my own flat, I'll go there and lie down in our old bed. You always feel closer to me then. I can almost smell you. I can almost feel you sleeping by my side. Almost. I can't take back what I did to you. I'd give anything to erase it. I destroyed the only thing I've ever truly loved._

_I think about you still. About you and Weasley. I wonder what kind of life you lead together. Does he make you happy? Do you smile that sweet, slow smile at him the way you used to for me? Does he know all your secrets? Your fears? Does he know that your back is ticklish or that you hate the freckle on the inside of your right ankle? Does he bring you coffee in the morning, with two teaspoons of sugar and a dash of milk? Do you lull him to sleep at night by running your fingers through his hair the way you used to for me? Can you talk to him about things that are important to you? Do you remember all the debates and discussions we used to have until the wee hours of the morning? Merlin, I loved getting you riled up. I almost always agreed with you, but seeing that fire in your eyes gave me such a thrill._

Hermione closed her eyes and thought seriously about those questions. She supposed Ron made her happy. He didn't make her sad, and that's what was important, wasn't it? she asked herself. Did she smile her true smile at Ron? And what did they talk about, anyway? It was always the same "Hi, honey, how was your day" banter between them. They never talked about politics, social issues, causes.

And she found herself thinking of the popcorn incident.

It had been late on a Friday evening and there was a big bowl of popcorn in between Draco and Hermione. They had just watched a movie where a man was tried for a crime he didn't commit and was being punished. Hermione was incensed. It didn't help that three glasses of wine were flowing through her system.

Oh, Draco played Devil's Advocate so well. For each argument she made, he had a brutal rebuttal. For each scenario she had, he had one better. It infuriated her!

After arguing for fifteen or so minutes, Draco threw a kernel of popcorn at her and told her to lighten up. That did it! She had been so irritated with his acerbic rebuttals that she dumped the bowl of popcorn on top of his head. It was the first time she had ever seen Draco look surprised. He was so stunned, he burst into laughter, and she melted in his arms, brushing popcorn off his shoulder so she could rest her head there.

Hermione smiled, looking down at the letter. For weeks afterward, she found popcorn everywhere. Did she and Ron ever do things like that? A dull ache in the pit of her stomach made her realise the answer was no.

_I wonder these things and I wonder if you ever think about me. Do you ever think about that weekend trip to Ireland where we rode horses in the rain and then made love under the stars? Do you miss sleeping next to me? Sometimes, when I'm dreaming, I ache for you so badly that I can't stay asleep. I'm forced awake, haunted, empty…hollow. Do you remember when I told you that I would always love you? Always. I meant it. I don't know if you can believe me, but I have always loved you, Hermione. I haven't stopped._

Upon seeing the words "Ireland", Hermione's smile faded. Of course she thought about it. It had been the most romantic weekend of her life. They spent most of that Saturday on horseback, enjoying nature and the scenery. Unexpectedly, though, a storm came through and they were forced to ride back to their camp in the pouring rain. Completely drenched, Hermione felt alive. She felt whole. And after they had dried off and the storm had passed, Draco made love to her under the stars with such tenderness and passion that she still got goose bumps thinking about it. They had clung to each other, both of them trembling in the wake of their climax and Hermione knew right then and there that she would never love anyone else the way she loved Draco Malfoy. He whispered his love for her into her ear as sleep took over. But she had heard him loud and clear.

He said, "I love you. Nothing can ever change that."

_I'm not writing this as a plea for you to come back, although if you did, I'd spend the rest of my life making it up to you. I'm writing because I need you to know how desperately sorry I am. I need you to know that my life has been empty since you left. I exist day-to-day, but my life has no meaning. I know I deserve to bear this cross. I deserve a lot worse, actually. I'm writing because I don't think you love Ron the way you should love a husband. Perhaps that's wishful thinking on my part, but I want you to think about it. Does he make you happy enough that it's worth spending forever with him? You deserve to be happy._

_Please forgive me. I love you more than you know._

_Draco_

* * *

Mr. Granger knocked three times on the door before opening it. Hermione's wedding dress was on a hanger, and her veil sat neatly on the table, right next to the open letter.

The key was gone and so was his daughter.


	2. Stockholm Syndrome

**2\. Stockholm Syndrome**

* * *

Draco stared as hard as he could at the water stained ceiling over his head. He stared long and hard, unfocusing his mind from the million frantic thoughts that ran through it and sticking to his mantra:_You are a Malfoy. You will survive. You will get out of this. You are a Malfoy. You will survive. You will get out of this. You are a -_

"Good morning, Malfoy."

Draco stared at the ceiling. _You will get out of this. You will get out of this. You will get out of this._

"Malfoy."

He was not going to reply. He was too good to reply. He was not caught. They had not caught him. "Malfoy, you lazy sack of -"

"_Ron_!"

"The ruddy idiot won't answer me! I don't know why we haven't handed his stupid, Death Eating arse to the bloody Aurors yet!" Draco caught the underlying threat in Weasley's tone. "They'd have fun with him, I know they would. Do you know what the Aurors do to disgusting bastards like you, Malfoy? You'll be begging for a Killing Curse."

"Ron, just lay off. He'll get what he deserves." Granger. That shrill, condescending tone could belong to no one but Granger. Draco gritted his teeth as she continued. "Why don't you go tell Harry about our capture? He'll be ever so pleased, it will have made the last four months of battle worthwhile to find out that Malfoy has been caught with his mask on."

Stupid Granger. Draco laid very still as they spoke in soft, hushed tones that he could not catch before Weasley stomped out of the room. The door clicked shut behind him. There was silence. Draco squeezed his eyes shut, focusing on his mantra even more, willing himself out of here.

"Open your eyes, Malfoy," Granger said softly. Draco squeezed them so tightly shut that tears were starting to form, his mouth moving silently as he repeated himself over and over again. He was not going to make anything easy for them, he was not the weak link; his father would be proud knowing that he died without telling them anything. "Malfoy, open your eyes, please."

Draco stopped. Please? She asked him politely? He swallowed hard. "I am not opening my eyes, Granger."

He heard an audible sigh and the bed sag down slightly as Granger seated herself next to him. "Malfoy, do not make this more difficult than it has to be, all right? I don't want to be horrible but I can and I will."

She was such a liar. She did not give two shits about making this easy on him. This was a war; no one wanted to make anything more comfortable for either side. Were she in his position, she'd be dead right now and she knew it. She just wanted to make it sound like she was giving him a choice when she wasn't. He wasn't going to enjoy this either way - he told, he got tortured, he died a traitor to his bloodline or he didn't tell, got tortured, died as a hero. Either way, he was going to get tortured and killed.

"Malfoy, open your eyes. Now."

"Make me," he replied icily. "I am not going to let you bloody well read my mind and if it means anything to you, I don't know anything of any importance."

She laughed a cruel, bitter chuckle. "I find that hard to believe, Malfoy, we have spies and we know that you have been coordinating everything. Just open your eyes and I won't have to use my wand."

He curled his lip. "Fuck you, Granger."

"_Oculus retego_."

Draco's eyes snapped open, stinging in the bright morning light. He would have covered them with an arm to block the unwelcome light had Weasley's brother not bound him to it the night before when he was struggling. The very thought of the night before made him scowl; this was all Crabbe's fault, the stupid imbecile.

"Watch your mouth, Malfoy," she said coolly as she leaned over and peered into his eyes. He actually laughed; only Granger would ask a bloody prisoner to watch their language. "You need to understand that you are tied to a bed and I have a wand. You are not at the advantage and you have everything to lose; I have nothing. So watch your mouth, tell me whatever you know, then maybe I won't hand you over to the Ministry. Do you understand me?"

"Perfectly," he spat, a defiant glare on his face, "but I am not telling you a thing, so you are wasting your time."

He stared at her, hoping to unnerve her even though his eyes burned. He hadn't seen her in close to three years and to say that she hadn't changed much was an understatement. Granger looked exactly the same as she had at their graduation from Hogwarts. Her dark, curly hair was still long and pulled back into what resembled a messy bun, her eyes were still wide and curious and she was still dressed in black robes. Did Granger ever change? Get a haircut? Possibly put on a little make up?

She looked a bit startled, but she kept her gaze level with his before speaking. "Fine, Malfoy, enjoy your day and please, do not struggle too much, it might anger the poltergeist in the wardrobe."

With that, she swiftly turned and strode to the door. Her hand was on the knob when she turned. "_Finite Incantatum_."

As she left the room, Draco blinked and realised that there tears on his cheeks from his burning eyes. Somewhere inside, this made him feel indescribably sad.

* * *

He didn't see Granger again for another three days. He was on the floor, repeating his mantra over and over again when he heard the door open. He didn't care; he was just going to get hexed again, maybe kicked in the side of the head, so he just stared blankly at the wall, clearing his head of any thoughts.

"Malfoy?" Granger appeared in his light on sight, a look of intense worry on her face. He scanned her from head to toe, as she was dressed in a pair of Muggle jeans, a red T-shirt and munching on some sort of pastry. It was nice to know that some people had something to eat. He opened his mouth to speak but thought twice about it - his jaw was a bit sore from being kicked.

"Oh, Malfoy, you are bleeding everywhere," she fussed, dropping the pastry onto the bedside table - it was a croissant - and crouching down next to him. Huffing and muttering to herself, she cast several cleaning spells and Draco could feel the tacky layers of blood disappearing from the side of his head where Potter's boot had collided with his temple. "There, is that better?"

"No," his pained mumble replied, glaring at her contemptuously. How dare she come and fix him up like this was some sort of fifth year fight in the Charms corridor? This was a war and he was the enemy; he knew that he was going to have the crap beaten out of him. She made it all seem so... trivial. "Why are you doing this?"

She stared at him in thought and he couldn't help but notice that Granger's eyes sparkled. They weren't tired and dull like everyone else's were... they were still alive. He decided that he slightly admired that, not that he'd ever say so. Her voice was tired and raspy when she finally replied, "Because you are a mess, Malfoy, and I don't like it."

He snorted in derision and closed his eyes, feeling sleepy and sick to his stomach. He hadn't been given the pleasure of sleep in the four days that he had been in this room; his Slytherin paranoia made it impossible while in enemy territory. He hadn't eaten either and it made him feel dizzy, coupled with the concussion that he was sure that he had. They had accomplished what they had set out to do - he was ruined, tired and on the brink of giving up.

"Malfoy, open your eyes."

He groaned disagreeably as everything started to feel heavy and dreamy... he was so tired...

Splash.

His eyes snapped open as he sputtered and coughed, water having gone up his nose. Granger was staring at him with wide eyes and an empty glass in her hand. He scowled and tried to sit up a little, but felt too weak and dizzy to do so. Everything in the room spun except for Granger, who he kept his eyes on for fear that he was going to be sick.

"Malfoy, are you dizzy?" she questioned, reaching to touch his forehead. He pulled back and grumbled. "Stop it, just be agreeable for once in your life!"

"No," he snapped, ignoring the jarring pain that radiated from his left ear right down into the roots of his teeth. "Don't touch me."

"Malfoy, you are hurt," she insisted, steadying him as he shifted again, leaning against the wall. Granger's hands were icy cold through his robe and he idly wondered if the rest of her was that cold. She really was tiny, with her little, thin hands and narrow shoulders; he hadn't noticed it before.

"Granger, you are so short," he replied, feeling light headed. He laughed at his own stupidity and let his head fall back against the wall with a solid thump. "Why are you even bothering with me, Granger? I'm sure that someone of your brilliance is needed to plan battles - not baby-sit the prisoners of war."

She looked at him, her brow knit and her lips pursed and shook her head. "You've hit your head, you don't know what you are even saying."

"I didn't hit my head, Potter did, with his boot." Draco scowled again. "Bloody bastard, I cannot wait until he gets killed."

"He and Ron did not have a choice, you git," she snapped foully. "Just tell us where you have got George and they will stop it."

He smiled. "Never. I would rather die than give them the satisfaction."

She rolled her eyes and climbed to her feet, disappearing from his line of sight for a few moments before returning with a plate. Draco perked up immediately. He needed something to eat badly, he had a high metabolism and the lack of food was making him feel terrible. She set down the plate of sandwiches and set a glass of pumpkin juice next to it.

"Eat, Malfoy."

He stared petulantly at the sandwiches - he didn't really like roast beef - but his stomach won out and he picked up one of the quartered pieces. It was halfway into his mouth when he looked up and caught Granger watching him carefully. Too carefully. He dropped the sandwich like it was on fire.

"I am not eating it," he declared, desperately wanting to eat it. It probably had some sort of truth serum in it. "If you want me to eat, don't drug the food."

Granger gritted her teeth. "It isn't drugged, Malfoy, it is a bloody sandwich! I wasn't even supposed to feed you, but fine, if you want it that way, sit up here and starve! You are such an idiot!" She was muttering under her breath as she made her way to the door, slamming it shut behind her. He listened as she spelled it, as to not let him escape.

Left alone with the sandwiches, his stomach won out and he ate them all, feeling not the least bit affected by potions of any sort.

* * *

Eight days. He had been in this stupid, tiny room for eight days. Something about it was just pissing him off to no end. First he was hopeful, then downright miserable and now... now he just wanted to punch someone. Draco usually did not like to physically assault people, he preferred his wand, but something about the fact that he had been in this room for eight days made him pace with a new-found energy, shouting angrily.

"Let me out of here!" he called out at the top of his voice. "I don't know anything anymore! Weasley's brother is _dead_! You can't save him! _Someone kill me, please_!"

He aimed a kick at the door and it splintered, but did not break. Seething with frustration, he punched the wall, almost taking pleasure in the way that his knuckles throbbed right into his hand. He glowered at the wall with contempt and stalked over to the charmed window that would not break and stared sulkily out at the sunny day. He was in London, he had figured that much out, and was in some random, residential house.

He wondered if his friends missed him. Was his father panicked? Was his mother in tears? Did anyone anywhere give a flying fuck about him? He hadn't seen anyone in days. Not Weasley, not Potter, not even Snape, who was suddenly not as nice to him now that he had switched sides. No one had beaten him up, no one had tried to drug him, no one had even brought him anything else to eat since Granger had four days beforehand. Did they even care if he was still alive?

"Stupid Order of the Phoenix and stupid Potter and stupid Weasley and I hate this sodding room and I will kill the next person that comes in here," he muttered angrily, trembling terribly. He did not know what was wrong with him but he felt anxious, ill and vigilant for some odd reason.

"Have you finally lost it, Malfoy?"

He spun on his heel to find Granger standing in the doorway, a mug of coffee in her hands, a look of sheer amusement on her face. She cocked her head, her dark curly hair pulled back into a bun and smiled at him. She looked clean and comfortable, something that made Draco feel envious and angry at the same time. "Everything all right?" she questioned, closing the door behind her.

"I'm pissed off!" he shouted, striding towards her. "Why are you keeping me in here all alone?"

She chuckled. "Lonely?"

He scowled and crossed his arms over his chest. "I hate you, Granger," he spat, feeling so frustrated that he could just... he didn't even know what he could do. She nodded.

"I know you do, Malfoy, you always have," she replied casually, looking up at him in disinterest. "I was just wondering why you were shouting. It was a bit irritating, I was trying to read downstairs."

"You didn't answer my question. Why in the name of all that is holy are you keeping me here?" he questioned, his fingers twitching to pull out all of his hair. She blinked and smiled at him in the most aggravating fashion.

"Well, we can't just let you go free, Malfoy, and I don't want to hand you over to the Ministry, because even you are too good for Azkaban," she replied flatly, shrugging. "Do you want to go to Azkaban?"

"I want a shower, a comfortable bed and some take away curry," said Draco tonelessly, glaring at her. She had this habit of crawling under his skin in the most unnerving sort of way. He hated that about Granger, it was never just a childish rivalry or disagreement of opinions with her. "Why do you even care? I'm just another Death Eater, let them have their way with me, then I can die, then I won't be locked in this sodding room."

"You aren't just another Death Eater, Malfoy, we both know that," she said softly, making a lump rise in his throat. "You've never been another Death Eater, you are Draco Malfoy. I am sorry if I cannot just put people into boxes like that, but I cannot believe that you are just another bad guy. I... we are all people, not good guys and bad guys."

His throat felt dry as he replied, "This is a war, Granger, it isn't personal."

"I don't know how you can say that," she rasped, shaking her head. Something about Granger's teary eyes and morose attitude made him feel... he didn't know if there was a word for what he felt at the moment.

He gave her a tight smile. "I am a bad guy, I am supposed to say that."

"How can you just... how can you just be a 'bad guy', Malfoy? How do you sleep at night knowing that?" she inquired, her expression troubled and obviously unable to comprehend anything but her own self righteous Gryffindor views.

"'Bad guy' has been a box that I was born into, Granger, it means nothing horrible to me," he replied flatly, regarding her coolly. "You sound like this war doesn't agree with you." He smirked, knowing that it didn't, but at the same time, she was right in the middle of it. War never did agree with those who had morals.

"It doesn't. I just want it to be over," she said, meeting his eyes. "I suppose everyone does, I guess."

Draco chuckled and ruffled her hair, ignoring the look she shot him. "You are so naive, Granger, I happen to flourish in war. Slytherins thrive in disorder - it is easier to take over that way, I suppose. If this war ends, I'll have nothing more than a cell in Azkaban if I'm lucky." She opened her mouth, but he cut her off; he knew what she was going to say. "I know we are going to lose, I am not stupid."

"Then why do you continue to work for Voldemort?" she asked and he shuddered at the name. He never called You-Know-You that, he called him the Dark Lord... the 'V' word was blasphemous. Granger seemed to notice. She grabbed his hand with the bloodied knuckles. "You are shaking. Are you that afraid of him, Malfoy?"

Was there even a point in lying? He swallowed hard and pulled his hand back from hers, feeling suddenly awkward. His voice was trembling when he replied, "I'm terrified, Granger. You have no idea what fear is."

"I've seen him, Malfoy," she replied, stepping close to him, invading his personal space. Why was she being like this? Why was she so... close? Draco could smell her shampoo and even when looking down on her, she seemed to be bigger than him. He averted his eyes but her chilled, bony hand gripped his chin and made him look at her. "Why do you follow him?"

His eyes narrowed and he forcefully tore her hand away, leaving an angry red mark on her wrist. "Don't touch me, Mudblood."

Granger sneered, something that he had never seen her do before. It fit her face surprisingly well - not at all as foreign as he would have thought. Or liked. "This stopped being about blood along time ago, Malfoy. Just drop your pretence and admit that you are just a coward."

Draco looked like he had just bitten into a lemon before nodding. It was true, he knew that he was a bloody coward. It was not his fault, he was a Slytherin, his family were Slytherins, he couldn't just leave the Dark Lord if he wanted. He was afraid; afraid of what others would think of him, of what his family would think or him, what the Death Eaters would do to him.

That was when Granger sent his entire world spinning off of its axis, fisting the front of his robes as she pulled him into a kiss. He shouldn't... she was wrong... he pushed her back into the wall, invading her mouth furiously. He braced himself against the wall as her hands pulled at his robe, her mouth never ceasing its movement against his.

They broke for a moment as she pulled the robe over his head, discarding it onto the floor. His stared breathlessly at her and opened his mouth to question but she would not have it. Deftly grabbing the belt loops on the front of his trousers, she pulled him back firmly against her and accosted his neck, sliding her tongue to his ear. It made him feel weaker than before, his mind spun as she slid her hands up the back of his shirt, pressing and moving against his smooth skin. He pulled back slightly, detaching her from his ear as to kiss her thoroughly again as her hands slid to his zipper.

When she finally grasped him, he gasped into her mouth, his eyes snapping open wide. Her smooth, cool hand slid with ease, practically shutting down his mind. He had spent over a week in hell, most of it so very alone and she was here and warm and wonderful...

He couldn't kiss her properly - he could barely hold himself up let alone actually do something that involved motor skills. "Malfoy?" she whispered, her voice smooth and low. He released a whine as her hand paused. "Malfoy?"

"Hmm," he ground out, eyeing her lazily. "What?"

"Where is George Weasley?" she asked, pushing him back towards the bed. She bit her lower lip as he undid her bra with a snap, pulling it over her head with her T-shirt. "Malfoy, answer me."

He wasn't listening. Draco busied himself sucking on her skin, knowing that he wouldn't get to finish what he started. He was a dying man, he was not going to deny himself this. He didn't even protest when she pushed him down onto the mattress, tugging off his trousers. His eyes fell shut as she straddled him, rubbing against him, causing a jolt in his groin that felt so good that it hurt. Granger was... Granger was perfect and always had been.

"Where is he, Malfoy?" she continued to ask forcefully before muttering a charm and tossing her wand (and other garments) aside. Draco gasped and swallowed hard as she slid onto him, making the entire universe small and warm and...

"Oxford," he replied, not even knowing what he was saying. All he knew was that she was moving and he couldn't breathe and - "The Notts have him... oh... Granger..."

She obliged him when he flipped them over, thrusting with all of the might that he had left, his body trembling and dangling on the fine edge of exhaustion. They said nothing else, only the sounds of panted breaths and skin against skin were heard as she dug her nails into his back and he sped up in reply. It was only moments after her body tensed and her mouth formed a silent 'oh' that he collapsed into her, feeling wasted and more tired than ever before in his life.

* * *

When Draco awoke in the morning, he was alone. He knew that would happen, but for some reason, it still stung. He felt well rested and while still weak from hunger, he felt... alive. He opened his eyes to stare at the ceiling and a sardonic smile slid onto his face. Granger was a better Slytherin than he was. Watching the snow lightly tumble from the February sky, he marvelled that she had been able to do what Potter, Weasley and the rest of the 'good guys' hadn't.

Granger knew exactly how to break him.


	3. Flawed Design

**3\. ****Flawed Design**

* * *

_When I was a young boy_

_I was honest and I had more self control_

_If I was tempted I would run_

**First Year**

Her love for Harry Potter was sickening to him, the way she seemed to follow him and adore him. Why did he even care? His father pointed her out to him in a crowd of people in the bookstore. She was muggle filth. His mother didn't allow him to say "Mudblood" because she thought that was a dirty word for her precious young boy to say. Draco Malfoy loved his mother and respected her wishes by keeping his mouth shut and just calling her 'Stupid Granger' in the corridors around the school whenever he had a chance. He never touched her, though; he didn't have it in him to shove her.

She was a girl.

And he was his mother's sweet boy, or, at least, on the surface, that was who he was.

"Granger?"

"Yeah?"

"Help me with Potions." His statements were always facts.

"Of course."

_Then, when I got older_

_I began to lie to get exactly what I wanted_

_When I wanted it_

_And I wanted it_

* * *

**Second Year**

Those puffy eyes were his undoing, that cold expression on her face was one of death.

He spent every moment he could in the infirmary with her, touching her cold hands. "Granger, I hate you so much. I hope this kills you. I hope I never have to see your bushy little head in any of my classes. Father would be so happy if you were done. He says that I think of you too much. God I hate you, stupid little Mudblood." His fingers ran over her cheek. "I do hate you."

"Malfoy."

"Yeah?"

"We have to go. Potter and his Weasel are coming. What are you doing with Granger anyway?"

"I don't see how that is any of your concern you fat arse."

Goyle walked back out in the corridor, stalling the heroes of Gryffindor from seeing their lioness for a few more minutes.

Draco Malfoy loved being in her den.

_Now, I'm having trouble differentiating_

_Between what I want_

_And what I need_

_To make me happy_

* * *

**Third Year**

His hands wrapped into silky black hair as he listened to the low moans coming from Pansy Parkinson, as she tried desperately to please him. Pansy was one of his best friends, yet when he desperately wanted something unnameable he called on her to give him that moment of sanity. "Fuck, Parkinson. You're getting… umm, better… that doesn't mean stop…"

Draco's head tossed to the side against the dungeon wall, desire laced eyes opened to see no one other then a wide eyed Hermione Granger staring back at him. He wasn't even sure if she had ever been there considering that the moment he blinked she was gone.

As Pansy's hand wandered towards his pant's zip, he pulled her hand off. "Draco…"

"Later, Pansy." He turned the corner and almost ran through the dungeons. He had to find that meddling little Mudblood. Maybe this time he would actually hurt her instead of just stare at her and call her mean names.

Draco saw curly brown hair sharply turn a corner and he knew he had her. That corner led to nothing but a dead end. This was it; no one probably knew she was down there and now he would have her. He would show her that he wasn't scared of her. That he truly hated her. That he wouldn't ever let her live if he had the chance. This was it, that big moment. Hermione Granger was finally his to destroy. His dreams were big.

"Mal-Malfoy… you stay away from me. I know what you were doing… with Pansy…"

"Then I suppose you saw everything, right, Granger?" The brunette's head bobbed in a 'yes' fashion.

"Then you know how much she enjoyed doing that for me." He could hear her swallow. "You know that she was moaning for me."

"You're sick."

"Not as sick as you, Granger. You watched, little voyeur. You liked it just as much as Parkinson did."

Hermione looked down in shame.

This round was one zero. Draco in the lead.

_So instead of thinking I just stop_

_Before I have the chance to contemplate the_

_Consequences of action_

* * *

**Fourth Year**

Sticky tears traveled down the face of the elegant Gryffindor girl as she walked up the stairs just trying to make her way back to her common room. This night was the worst she had ever experienced; it was even worse then getting the crap kicked out of her by a tree. The way Ron treated her was horrible, horrible enough to where she kind of ditched out on Viktor.

"Well, well, well. If it isn't the princess of Gryffindor out for a stroll, and without her bodyguards, I see. What happened, love? Get into a tiff with one of them? Too bad." His voice was stuffed with fake sympathy and her tears weren't stopping.

"Please, just leave me alone." Her bun was starting to fall out and thick ringlets of perfectly curled hair fell into her face. "Don't you have someone you should be with right now? I'm sure that she would like to show you off a bit more tonight."

"Don't you have Krum?"

"I'm tired, Malfoy."

"I'm awake, so I suppose we're at a standstill here, Mudblood." He took one step closer and she unconsciously leaned back. "How cute, right when I thought you were starting to like me."

"I could never like you, in any form of the word." Hermione pushed past him and quickly walked up another set of stairs. She was almost home. Almost to her bed, almost to anywhere that Malfoy wasn't allowed to follow. She was standing right in front of the sleeping Fat Lady when she felt strong hands on her hips and her body being pulled back against another. A cool hand covered her mouth while the other was more daring, snaking around her waist and grazing over her long neck. It ran down the side of her periwinkle dress and pulled the fabric up slightly. Draco could feel the hot breath of her mouth against his hand and was momentarily disgusted at himself for even touching her.

She was filthy.

But she didn't feel filthy.

His hands moved off her body and he turned her around to face him. Hermione's eyes looked down at his mouth and back up to his silver orbs. "You don't touch me like you hate me."

"You don't reject me like you hate me." His mouth moved over her neck and all he did was breathe. Breathe in her; breathe in everything.

_And ever since I figured out_

_That I could control other people_

_I've had trouble sleeping_

_With both eyes closed_

* * *

**Fifth Year**

"It's called doing my job, Harry. Just because Umbridge decides that I can't doesn't mean I'm going to listen."

"Don't you remember what she did to me, Hermione?"

"Yes, I remember clearly. I just want to-"

"Oh, how sweet, Granger and Potty out for a late night stroll." Of course they couldn't have just run into some Hufflepuff airhead, no, they had to run into Pansy Parkinson. Her flowing black hair was intimidating to Hermione. Why was it that Draco would slink around with Pansy? She was pureblood, after all. Why did he keep it so well hidden?

"Bugger off, Parkinson."

A blue gaze turned to the brown eyed Gryffindor. "Finally find a voice, Granger? I don't understand what is it about you that fascinates Draco so much. All he does lately is talk about you. You're filth, Granger. You're absolutely disgusting and you know it. You live in filthy skin with thick muddy blood flowing through your veins." The Slytherin took a step closer to Hermione. "You reek of it. Your whole family is better then you. Being a Muggle is one thing, but being whatever the hell it is you are is-"

That was the last moment that Hermione Granger heard anything. Or, at least, for that night it was. Her fist balled and before she could realize what was happening, she was on top of Parkinson and trashing her. There was blood on her hands and nothing else mattered but getting it everywhere. They were rolling on the floor. Evidently Pansy wasn't going to give up and Hermione felt like her eye was going to explode when one rather brutal punch came in. In the back of her mind she could hear Harry yelling and could hear Pansy groaning and coughing but it just didn't matter. Nothing mattered. Pansy thought her blood was dirty; well, let the bitch taste it. She didn't care if tomorrow she was strung out by Umbridge. She just didn't care.

Cool hands touched her. They weren't Harry's because she knew his hands must be warmer then this.

Draco.

"Pansy-"

"Draco, she attacked-"

"I don't care, Pansy. Go get cleaned up and don't tell anyone about this."

"She should get…"

"I said go get healed or whatever" the Slytherin seeker said over his shoulder.

Footsteps belonging to the standing girl faded.

There was so much blood.

"What the hell happened, Potter?"

"Hermione and I were talking and Parkinson said things to her. Hermione just... she just attacked her."

"Is she okay?"

"Yeah, she's fine."

His pale fingers caressed her face and Harry lit up with anger, shoving Malfoy away with as much force as he could muster.

_And if I asked permission_

_If I make sure it's ok_

_I promise I won't slip up this time_

_You can trust me_

* * *

**Sixth Year**

The seventh floor seemed eerily quiet. Ever since the D.A. stopped meeting she hadn't found that much need to walk those corridors so frequently. Maybe she was just curious was all. Maybe Harry was right about whatever it was Malfoy was doing in there. A part of her didn't want to believe that he was doing anything wrong because that would mean her little fantasy of him being a good person was shot to hell. She never could figure out why she wanted that so much from him, but she did.

A door appeared in front of her face and she watched the knob turn. Out stepped Malfoy who seemed to be holding something shiny in his hand. It was quickly shoved into his pocket when he saw her, though. "What the hell are you doing up here?"

"I don't see how that is any of your business, Malfoy." She looked down at his feet and then up the rest of him. She wanted to bash his head on most days; this day was just another one of those days. "But, my business does concern what you've been doing in that room."

"I think you know quite well what I've been doing in there, eh, Granger?" His promiscuous words made her flush. Yeah, what he was doing in there had nothing to do with wanking but she couldn't help but let her mind wander. It wasn't a crime. He was a nice looking bloke. "You know that it isn't fun and games any more, don't you?"

"Yes, I know it isn't. But I still want to know."

"What I'm doing in there?" Draco tried to chuckle but it didn't work out "Let's just drop it, call it a day." He stared to pick up pace as he walked past her but her arm grabbed his. Draco's response wasn't tactful and surely wasn't safe. Hermione felt her whole body sting as her back connected with the cold stone walls Hogwarts was laced with.

His eyes seemed darker then usual. Eyes were never Hermione's thing but his were captivating to her.

His tight grip on her upper arms was painful as he slammed her against the wall once more. "Do you think this is a game?"

"Never."

"Then why the hell do you play it, Granger? You want me to have to hurt you? Do you want them all to know "

"Draco, you're hurting me."

"Hurting you? Do you think I care? Do you think I can care? I hate you."

"You've never been able to truly hate me. Don't grow a pair now and think it's acceptable."

"I'm one of them." His hands loosened their grip on her. The shocked brunette could only stare. Those wide muddy eyes looked back at him with a mixture of shock and anger. "I hate you." Draco's fist slammed into the wall beside her head.

She didn't flinch.

Just stared.

_But never take advice from someone_

_Who just admitted to being devious_

_Who just confessed to treason_

* * *

**The War**

"You can't think about it. If I was the enemy, if I even seemed like it for one moment, never question it. Always act on it. If you don't, I could kill you. Potter could kill you. Weas- anyone could kill you."

"Well, Harry killing me would be absurd."

"Harry killing anyone other than Voldemort sounds absurd to you, and yet you've watched him take lives."

"Lives of killers."

"Lives of husbands, wives, children, mothers. It makes no difference. In the end we're all just pawns. It's already all mapped out for us, Granger. Either we're going to live, or we're going to die."

Hermione looked up from the spot on the floor. The dingy room they were residing in was filthy, disgusting. It reminded her of the dungeons, so full of grime but you could still call it home. "Do you ever think of me, Draco?"

"Think of you?"

"In terms of us. About what we have?"

"Always."

"Do you have a conclusion?"

"Never I can't think of any and the more I look at you, the more this room becomes home. The more I realize that if I could really breathe without you, nothing would feel complete. My whole life has been nothing but you. Ever. I remember watching you as a child, being told the missions I was to follow when it came to you. I was to best you in school. I was to be better. But how could I ever dream of being better then someone who was born to steal everything away from me; who was born to steal my soul."

"I don't want to steal anything from you. I lov-"

"Don't say things like that to me, Granger. I don't deserve it."

"I still want to tell you."

Draco lifted his head up and gave her a sideways glance. She was his to protect now. Harry had pretty much handed her to him and said that he trusted him. Draco was trusted to ensure the survival of one Hermione Granger. Most days he wished he didn't exist in her world. Maybe she would be happier, safer.

"Draco."

"Yeah?"

"Kiss me."

"What?"

Hermione put her hand over his and looked into his dark grey confused eyes. She bit her rosy bottom lip and leaned in close to him. "I want you to kiss me, just once." Her nose bumped against his and moved back and forth against Draco's. Her eyes closed as his hand wove into her hair. Their lips came close together, so close, he could feel her breathing. His eyes closed while his free hand pushed Hermione into him as light growl emanated from Draco's throat. Hermione gasped lightly as his mouth came harshly down on hers. She groaned into his mouth when his hand grasped her hips, pulling her onto his lap.

Their kiss didn't end even when they felt like breathing was an essential need. They couldn't stop. They just kept feeling each other push the other one into a desperate state of need and desire.

Behind them they heard someone coughing. They pulled away quickly. Hermione landed on the floor right beside Draco when Harry got close enough to push him. "What the hell is going on in here?"

There was blood on his shirt.

"Nothing, Harry" Hermione said, looking up at her best friend with hooded eyes.

"Right Malfoy, I need you and Hermione to cover me. Ron is out of town with Charlie doing recon and tonight is when it ends."

"Ends, Potter?"

"Tonight, either Voldemort or I will end it. This is it, the big finish."

_And I will turn off_

_And I will shut down_

_Burying the voices of my conscience hitting ground_

* * *

**Post War**

He was looking down at a grave.

Not an odd thing since there were many people in this graveyard wandering around and mourning. But none were really for these people. These were the people that killed all the other ones. He set down yellow roses on his mother's grave. She hadn't killed anyone, but she was resting near the husband for whom she died.

"Draco, Harry wants to see you." Hermione's brown eyes stared at his figure.

"Tell Potter I'll speak with him tomorrow."

"But-"

"No. I don't want to speak to him."

"I know it hurts."

"You have no idea."

"I'm so sorry. Is there anything I can do?" Her hand touched his shoulder in a gesture of help.

"I don't want your pity. I want your absence." He shrugged away from her touch.

"Fine, have it your way." Her hand pulled away, but before she could take even five steps away from him, her name was being called out.

"I just miss her. I remember the mornings when father was away. She would come in and wake me up with kisses. She was too good for him. She deserved so much more from both of the men in her life. I failed her." His fingertips ran over the white stone "I wanted to save her so desperately I joined them to save her. You knew that, right? And I abandoned them to save you because I couldn't even fathom the thought of a world without you in it. My mother knew." Draco made himself look at Hermione. "I want to touch you. I want to taste your skin, feel your life under my fingers. I'm so in love with you I don't even know when it started and I can't make it end."

"Draco-"

"And I don't want you to love me. You're so beautiful. You deserve someone better. Someone that is a better person, who didn't make mistakes and almost shagged you in a dirty room."

"I love you! I don't care about what you've done. If you love me then please don't say someone else deserves me more! I want to be with you."

"And I refuse to let you be with me. I look at you and see something forbidden."

_And I will turn off_

_And I will shut down_

_The chemicals are restless in my head_

* * *

**The Real Beginning**

_His hands ran over her naked flesh, grasping and kissing his way up her body in quiet desperation. This was love. It wasn't need. It was much too raw for need. Her head tossed back into the pillow that held her head close to his, her mouth opening up to produce sexy sighs and begging moans. He wasn't sure what she wanted but he wanted to give it to her. His thighs rested between her wide spread ones as he basked in her glowing eyes that were burning black. She didn't even look like the Hermione Granger he had shoved away just to pull closer._

_Nimble fingertips traced pathways down his back and gripped his shoulder blades. Her pleading moans were becoming louder, ringing through his head as the tip of his arousal touched her wet entrance. A sheer layer of sweat rested over her face and the visible parts of her chest. They were breathing so heavily that he couldn't think. The room felt like it was full of smoke, smoke and her vanilla body wash._

_She was warm around him, welcoming as he slid himself inside of her. His head fell into the crook of her neck as a small, longing rhythm was set. They could feel each other giving up, reaching for unreachable things. Dreaming of daring thoughts. "Tell me…" she whispered into his shoulder her lazy kisses coating his neck and cheeks._

_"I…" he swallowed, "love you," he chocked out into her hair while his hands grasped her back, flipping them so that she rode him gracefully._

_"Again…" His hips bucked up at her and she slammed down onto him._

_"Love you… love you… love you…" Draco's voice was hoarse but he couldn't stop telling her. Couldn't make himself stop._

He was crying when he woke up.

Woke up to find a cold bed.

He had screwed everything up. In five hours he was going to watch the woman he loved marry Ron Weasley and all he had was this dream. This one perfect moment in his mind when they melted together and everything was wonderful when he could scream that he loved her more than the air he breathed.

Draco brushed his teeth, took a shower and didn't eat breakfast that morning. Nothing looked good.

Four hours and fifteen minutes later, he was standing at the podium, watching Weasley rock back and forth in a nervous fashion.

"You know, I'll wake up tomorrow morning with her in my arms." Ron said quietly over to Draco as the grey eyed dragon watched him. "But I know that she would have spent the whole night dreaming of you." Draco moved his eyes down to the floor. His shiny black shoes were the only things staring back at him.

The music started.

Draco couldn't breath.

_'Cuz I lie n__ot because I want to_

_But I seem to need to a__ll the time_

_Yeah, I lie a__nd I don't even know it_

_Maybe this is a__ll a part of my flawed design_

* * *

**A/N:** The lyrics are from the song "Flawed Design" by Stabilo.


	4. Someday

**4\. Someday**

* * *

_How the hell did we wind up like this_

_Why weren't we able_

_To see the signs that we missed_

_And try and turn the tables?_

Hermione and Draco stood a few feet apart and stared at each other. This was a dilemma for both of them.

Hermione had entered Draco's home along with the remaining members of the Order of the Phoenix, who were planning to infiltrate the underground labyrinth they now knew was being used by Voldemort as a stronghold.

Hermione had secret misgivings about the operation from the start, but she was as determined to fight evil as the rest just as long as she didn't see him.

* * *

**Flashback**

**Hermione was an eager first year, making her way through the maze of Hogwart's library for the first time. Her eyes sparkled brightly with excitement and anticipation. The next seven years would be glorious, she knew. Then, at what seemed like the very end of the maze, she stumbled across him. They had been made acquainted on the very first day, and she had known then that she would hate him, because he so obviously hated her.**

**He turned his blond head towards her with a blank look nothing like the sneer she had previously seen him with.**

**"Hello," he said dully. She simply cast him an icy glare and turned to weave her way back into the maze of winding bookshelves. "Don't go," he said to her retreating back. It was a simple statement, but it held so much potential. Was it an order? Was it a plea? Should she comply?**

**Her sense of curiosity forced her to turn back.**

**"Why?" she asked simply, but a little too vehemently. He seemed to take offence, because his mood changed instantly.**

**"Oh, you do what you want, Mudblood, just don't interrupt me," Draco snapped back with his cold sneer. This was the Malfoy she had known so far. Now she could defy him and remain in that cosy little nook of the library. She sat down beside him.**

**"What are these?" she asked, gesturing at the pile of books in front of him.**

**"They're history books," he replied, eyeing her suspiciously.**

**"A Magical History of Genealogy," Hermione read aloud, lifting the nearest book. "I'd have thought you were fairly secure with your family line," she added, a little scornfully. Draco shot her a dark glance.**

**"I'd have thought you were fairly insecure with yours," he shot back. Hermione shrugged ever so slightly. It had been the sort of shot she was expecting nothing too hurtful. "Here, you might prefer this." He handed her a small, thin book from a pile next to him.**

**"Magical Blood Its Origins, Its Meanings."**

**Hermione weighed the book in her hand. It was very light and very small. She did not trust small books either the topic was too unimportant to warrant a large book or the research had been very shoddy and the book wasn't worth the paper it was written on.**

**"Wouldn't you like to know how you can have magic when others don't?" Draco asked with a raised eyebrow. He could see her judging the book by its cover, she realised, and she resolved to read the book, just to prove him wrong.**

**"Thank you," she replied after a short pause. He was giving her a very strange look it was a look that, years later, she would try to call to memory in a hope of analysing and understanding it, without success.**

**"You're welcome." Then he turned back to his book, leaving her to dumbly follow his example.**

**They sat there for over an hour, devouring their respective books. Then, abruptly, Draco slammed his book shut. Perhaps he had not found what he was looking for, Hermione would later ponder. He stood, pushing his chair back, and scooped the remaining books up from the table and into his arms.**

**"Where ..." The question died on Hermione's lips. Looking up at him she suddenly realised the strangeness of the situation, suddenly remembered the enmity that lay between them. She shouldn't want him to stay.**

**"You may keep the book," Draco responded in a low whisper.**

**"Oh, no," Hermione argued back. The book had been riveting it gave her thrills to think about its meaning laden words which she had never even imagined before. But she would not accept it from Malfoy. "It's yours, isn't it? I mean, it doesn't have a library stamp on it, so it must be."**

**"It's yours." And then he swept away.**

* * *

**She had come back to that spot the next evening, the completed book in hand, ready to be returned. Draco had not been there. She had tried again, several times more times than she could quite allow herself to believe but he was never there again.**

**She got very, very angry with him after the first week, and hated him more than ever. Her hostility seemed appropriate, considering his treatment of her in public, and no one would ever question it. She was a Gryffindor, he a Slytherin. That was how things were meant to be between them. But deep down she knew that it was the secret feeling of rejection that was angering her the most.**

**However, after a month or so, Hermione began to receive small books as gifts under her pillow. She had never mentioned it to anyone, for she had always known they were from him, although the infrequent notes were never signed.**

**Whilst the regularity of the books was erratic, the stream never stopped entirely, no matter how hostile the feelings between them became.**

**They would never, ever speak of their meeting in the library, although Hermione had remembered it throughout her seven years at Hogwarts. Even in her final years she had sometimes caught sight of him at other tables in the library, or down an aisle flipping confidently through the books in search of something, and been reminded of it.**

**Sometimes he had even seen her, and she thought that at those moments she saw a look of recollection on his face. But, although she always chose to sit in what she thought of as 'their little nook' whenever she could, he never came again.**

* * *

Now they were standing face to face, on opposite sides. They had fought before, but never like this. This was different. This was serious. They were no longer in school. They were adults, who had each chosen their own path, fully aware that it was diametrically opposed to the other's.

However, just two days before, Hermione had received a book. A small, leather bound book with gold edged pages that twinkled in the fire light. With it had been a message 'For Hermione, who I pray now understands what is different about her, and what makes her so magical.'

The note was not signed. The book was 'Magical Blood Its Origins, Its Meaning.' There was no doubting who it was from, and Hermione wondered why it had come now.

There was also no escaping the affectionate, yet strained, tone of the note. Hermione had done her best to ignore it, locking both the note and the book far from prying eyes, but hadn't quite been able to erase it from her mind. She had learned not to judge a book by its cover, and prayed that she wouldn't have to meet Draco Malfoy and prove it to him.

_I wish you'd unclench your fists_

_Lately there's been too much of this_

_But don't think it's too late_

* * *

Hermione's knuckles were almost white her right hand clutched her wand frantically, her left clutched the air.

"Hermione," Draco let out hoarsely.

"No, Draco."

"Hermione," he whispered again, taking a few more steps towards her.

"Back off!" she ordered in a high pitched voice, brandishing her wand.

"I knew you were coming. I knew you would be the one to stray into the living quarters to round up anyone who was hiding." Draco continued to advance upon her, his arms stretched out, his hands completely empty. "We've been fighting for so long, you and I. I approached, you retreated." He gave a strained laugh, as if mocking his own foolishness. "You never replied to me, you know. All those gifts, all those notes. Not a single reply, but I knew you kept them." He paused and looked at her piercingly again. "How long can we go on fighting, Hermione?"

"This isn't just about you and me!" she exclaimed tensely. "There are hundreds of thousands of lives at stake. There are lives at stake right here, now, in this house. If I retreat now it is because you bar my way."

"I want you to know that I am blameless in all of this. Anything you see or find in this house is beyond my control." Draco stopped his advance, standing below a flickering chandelier that threw a sparkling silhouette of him onto the floor at Hermione's feet.

"Draco," she whispered back at him. There was something so inviting about him at that moment. He was not how she had expected, and yet he was completely how she had imagined. She wanted to go to him, and her knees bent instinctively, as if they were going to carry her towards him without her consent. She fought the urge she was here for different reasons. They were on different paths.

"Hermione, you will find a key in my bedroom, just along the hall here. You will need it. Take it and find the others," he ordered in a stronger voice. He paused, and a look of dejection and pity flickered across his face. "I will get out of your way," he sighed. "But not forever."

With those final words he whipped a wand from his pocket with a speed that scared Hermione. If he were about to attack then she would never respond in time to save herself.

Draco did not attack. Instead he Apparated. He was gone. The corridor was empty, except for the flickering light of the chandelier that still seemed to play around the space that he had just vacated.

_Nothing's wrong, just as long as you know that, someday I will_

_Someday, somehow, I'm gonna make it alright but not right now_

_I know you're wondering when_

_You're the only one that knows that_

* * *

Draco had known that she was coming, that they were all coming. His father's desire for power, for glory, had led him to cast aside all caution and allow Voldemort to take over almost the entire mansion. He also knew that he couldn't let himself be tarred with that brush, no matter how prejudiced they were against him.

He waited in his doorway for her to come. Somehow he knew that it would be Hermione who ventured into the top floor of the manor in search of him, whilst the rest were busy downstairs.

Although she had never mentioned his gifts, or his notes, she had never returned them, and he suspected that she had kept them and read them, over and over again. She had, at least, never openly rejected him, and although she seemed to despise him, he suspected that it was more to do with proud anger at his aloof behaviour than his potential connections to the Death Eaters.

Ever since that evening in the library, so many years ago, he had watched her with curiosity, and then increasing affection, although he had never been able to let her know it.

_Well, I'd hoped that since we're here anyway_

_That we could end up saying Things we've always needed to say_

_So we could end up staying_

* * *

**Flashback**

**The constant attention that Crabbe and Goyle required from him was getting wearing already. Draco had slipped away after dinner and made his way to the library. He had brought with him a few books that his mother had bought him before he had left London. He hadn't really understood why they needed to be hidden from his father, but his mother had insisted and he had complied. The books seemed interesting, and he didn't want his father to destroy them like he had destroyed many of his mother's books when Draco was young.**

**Now he needed to find somewhere quiet, somewhere secluded enough that no Slytherin would ever have the tenacity to come and bother him. He was already hating the Slytherins' obsession with him. They followed him around as if he were ... Harry Potter. He shuddered at that thought, and continued his way through the bookshelves with renewed zeal.**

**Eventually he found what he was looking for and settled down at the small wooden desk. He had only been there a few minutes when he heard someone flicking through the books close by.**

**'Gah! Why did I choose somewhere so easy to find?' he cursed himself, although he knew that the spot he had chosen was the most secluded in the library.**

**Then she had come round the corner. In hindsight, there was no one else it could have been no one else with the persistence and curiosity to make their way to this spot but at that moment he had been shocked. He turned his blond head towards her with a blank look. He didn't know quite what to do next. This was awkward they had already been forced to stake out a hostile relationship by an uncomfortably public first meeting.**

**"Hello," he said dully. She simply cast him an icy glare and turned to weave her way back into the maze of winding bookshelves. "Don't go." The words slipped out before he could stop them. What was he saying? He had come here to be alone!**

**"Why?" she asked simply, but a little too vehemently. He felt his blood begin to boil, but held it closely in check.**

**"Oh, you do what you want, Mudblood, just don't interrupt me," he snapped back with a cold sneer that had instantly leapt onto his face. How could he have humiliated himself by asking her to stay? She would be bound to tell everyone that he had begged for her company or something ridiculous like that! He pulled his cold veneer back into place.**

**However, a perverse look glimmered on her face, and she moved towards him. Great! Now she was going to defy him and remain in his cosy little nook of the library. She sat down beside him.**

**"What are these?" she asked, gesturing at the pile of books in front of him.**

**"They're history books," he replied, eyeing her suspiciously. What sort of strange creature was she? Rejecting him when he wanted her to stay, hounding him when he told her to go so contrary.**

**"A Magical History of Genealogy," Hermione read aloud, lifting the nearest book. "I'd have thought you were fairly secure with your family line," she added, a little scornfully. Draco shot her a dark glance. What would she know about pureblood life and the insecurities it bred?**

**"I'd have thought you were fairly insecure with yours," he shot back. Hermione shrugged ever so slightly. It had obviously been the sort of cheap shot she was expecting from him, and his pride flared a little. How dare she be so indifferent to him! He swallowed his anger. He'd just have to show her he wasn't what she thought.**

**"Here, you might prefer this." He handed her a small, thin book from a pile next to him.**

**"Magical Blood Its Origins, Its Meanings."**

**Draco watched her weigh the book in her hand. True, it was very light and very small, but Draco had already read that book, and he knew it to be riveting. She would like it if she bothered to try.**

**"Wouldn't you like to know how you can have magic when others don't?" Draco asked with a raised eyebrow. He wondered if she would be foolish enough to judge the book by its cover, and, if she did, perhaps she was impulsive enough to do that in every sphere of her life. That would be a disappointment.**

**"Thank you," she replied after a short pause. He could see her eyeing him a little suspiciously and realised that his mask must have slipped, and he must be giving her a very enigmatic look. He wiped his emotions from his face.**

**"You're welcome." Then he turned back to his book, and thankfully she followed his example. If she was going to insist on being there, the best he could hope for was for her to be quiet.**

**They sat there for over an hour, devouring their respective books. Then, abruptly, Draco slammed his book shut. His book was telling him things that he didn't want to hear. He stood, pushing his chair back, and scooped the remaining books up from the table and into his arms.**

**"Where..." The question died on Hermione's lips. Just as he hadn't wanted her to think he wanted her to stay, she was obviously feeling the same way.**

**"You may keep the book," he responded in a low whisper.**

**"Oh no," Hermione argued back. She was going to argue with him now and refuse his generosity. "It's yours, isn't it? I mean, it doesn't have a library stamp on it, so it must be."**

**"It's yours," he replied with a curled lip, and then he swept away before she could argue.**

* * *

**Draco could never bring himself to return to that nook in the library, although it meant that the Slytherins found him more often than he would like. Occasionally he spotted Hermione in the library, making her way toward the back, and he guessed that she might be going there. However, he could never quite bring himself to follow her.**

**Their relationship in public grew more and more strained. She appeared to despise him, and Draco often wondered if that was true. Her hostility did seem appropriate considering his treatment of her in public, and no one would ever question it. She was a Gryffindor, he a Slytherin. That was how things were meant to be between them. He knew that.**

**Eventually, he thought of a way to find out precisely how she felt toward him. One evening he called a house elf to his quarters and handed it a carefully selected book.**

**"Take this to Gryffindor Tower. It belongs to a girl called Hermione Granger. Leave it under her pillow."**

**The house elf did not demand an explanation. A week or so later, he spotted her reading the book at the breakfast table. Although she never mentioned it, she had clearly accepted the gift, and a few weeks later he called the house elf back again to take yet another book. This time he enclosed a small note.**

**He continued sending her books throughout their time at Hogwarts. Often they were books that he loved, and he was forced to surreptitiously purchase additional copies for the purpose. Although he knew the regularity of the books was erratic, the stream never stopped entirely, no matter how hostile the feelings between them became.**

**She never rejected them, but he always knew that things would never be peaceful between them.**

**Now there was this.**

**_Now the story's played out like this_**

**_Just like a paperback novel_**

**_Let's rewrite an ending that fits_**

**_Instead of a Hollywood horror_**

* * *

She wasn't going to lower her wand. Draco could see that, even as he continued to advance upon her. He wondered how she was feeling at that moment he could see the conflicted look in her eyes and knew that she must be thinking the same things as he. However, her sense of duty was stronger than her curiosity. She had sworn to come into this house and help the Order fight against the Death Eaters. Even if her instincts told her he might be trustworthy, he had never done anything to prove it to her.

"Hermione," Draco let out hoarsely. She looked so furious, so determined. She scared him when she looked like that. She looked like she might be capable of anything.

"No, Draco."

"Hermione," he whispered again, taking a few more steps towards her.

"Back off!" she ordered in a high pitched voice.

"I knew you were coming. I knew you would be the one to stray into the living quarters to round up anyone who was hiding." Draco continued to advance upon her, his arms stretched out, his hands completely empty. He hoped that, looking like that, she would put down her wand and talk to him for a minute or two perhaps let him join them in the war they were waging against his family. His family, who had left him with nothing of value to hold on to. His father. He would fight against his father.

"We've been fighting for so long, you and I," he continued. "I approached, you retreated." A bitter laugh emerged from his lips as he finally verbalised the swirling emotions he had kept hidden for seven years. "You never replied to me, you know. All those gifts, all those notes. Not a single reply, but I knew you kept them." He paused, and gave her a piercing look, trying to find his way inside her mind. "How long can we go on fighting, Hermione?"

"This isn't just about you and me. There are hundreds of thousands of lives at stake. There are lives at stake right here, now, in this house," she added fervently. "If I retreat now it is because you bar my way." The look of faith blazed in her eyes. She believed that she was doing good and that he was keeping her from that goal, Draco realised. She still looked like she wanted to believe his innocence, but she couldn't quite make that leap, she couldn't quite make herself that vulnerable. Draco knew what he had to do.

"I want you to know that I am blameless in all of this anything you see or find in this house is beyond my control." Draco stopped his advance, standing below a flickering chandelier that threw a sparkling silhouette of him onto the floor at Hermione's feet. The shadow seemed to be inviting him to join it, and for a split second Draco considered throwing himself at her mercy. Then, he shook the thought away. As Hermione's pride prevented her from running to him, so his pride prevented him from throwing himself at her feet yet.

"Draco," she whispered back at him, almost as if she could sense his troubled thoughts. He recollected himself and continued with a stronger voice.

"Hermione, you will find a key in my bedroom, just along the hall here. You will need it. Take it and find the others," he ordered. And then, the final admission of proud cowardice "I will get out of your way," he sighed. "But not forever," he added. Someday he would come back.

With that Draco groped for his wand and Apparated himself away. As he was casting the spell, he saw the look of mingled fear and disappointment flow across her face, and wished he'd given her a warning of what he was about to do. The next moment he had appeared at the edge of the mansion's grounds. Draco cast a look back at the house. Through the windows he caught a few flickering lights they were the torches of the Order, who were scouring the house from top to bottom. Draco did not wish to wait for the shrieks of the enraged Death Eaters when the Order intruded upon them. He only prayed that the Order's members would survive that Hermione would survive.

One day, when he had proved himself to be innocent of all their suspicions, he would come back and try to talk to her again. He would come back and try to make her understand what his gifts had truly meant.

_Nothing's wrong, just as long as you know that, someday I will_

_Someday, somehow, I'm gonna make it alright but not right now_

_I know you're wondering when_

_You're the only one that knows that_

* * *

**A/N:** The lyrics are from the song "Someday" by Nickelback.


	5. Swept Off Her Feet

**5\. Swept Off Her Feet**

* * *

Our story had been very simple. It was one of those stories where the main characters met once more in a foreign place and gets acquainted with one another. It wasn't hard to comprehend…it was a love story that at first might be thought of as completely unrealistic, but so realistic when thought of once more. It was one of those stories that over time never even vanished from the memories of those who knew it, for surely, it was never erased in mine.

We knew each other for a very long time. I couldn't say we were very close friends. No, we were more like competitors back when we were still students. There was a mutual enmity between us…a hatred that grew minute by minute, day by day. It had been like that until our final year.

After I left school, I never heard any news about you, and was rather keen not to. After all, you weren't so much as an acquaintance of mine. I didn't care about you or where you were, or what you had been doing. I never cared, and I never thought I would.

But after two years, I realized I was wrong with that conclusion.

* * *

I was working for the Ministry and, owing to the fact that I was good in French, had to go to Paris. I was chosen to be a delegate and had to talk to other delegates about things involving England and France.

It was almost three o' clock in the afternoon that day. I had been wasting my time off at a café, sipping the usual espresso while reading a novel I just bought at a nearby bookshop. As I was halfway finished with my coffee, I caught a glimpse of a man about my age. Blond, he was, and there was an air about him… a sense of flair. He was sipping his own cup of coffee, and was reading a newspaper.  
I took no further glances at the man and had another sip of my coffee when I realized who it had been.

The man I looked at was none other than Draco Malfoy, my former schoolmate. He was the childish boy who always bullied other kids before. He was the same boy I had hated during my seven years at school.

It was you. Of all people I had to see…it had been you.

Of course, after realizing who you were, I ignored you. I finished my coffee, paid for it, and stood up from my chair. I didn't want to socialize with you, if ever you might notice me. But just when I was about to walk away, you spoke to me in this drawling manner you always had.

"Well, well. If it isn't Hermione Granger…I never expected to see you."

I froze and took another look at you. You were staring at me, that unbelievable smirk plastered once again on your face. I thought (or hoped, rather) that I'd never see that smirk of yours ever again.

You folded your newspaper and looked at me one more time.

"I never expected to see you too, Malfoy."

"So what brings you here in Paris?"

"Work. You?" I asked, trying to keep things friendly.

"Same. Where do you work?"

Before I knew it, we were talking about many random things. It surprised me that we talked like we were old pals when we both knew we were far from being so. It had been one of the most surreal moments in my life. It was like I was meeting someone new…someone whom I shared a lot in common with. You had changed a lot, as far as I could tell, and I honestly thought that the change had been good. It was for the better.

* * *

The days went by and after that fateful meeting of ours, I hadn't seen you again. Maybe that unexpected encounter was just…a meeting by chance. It didn't mean anything.

But at the back of my mind, there was a thought that troubled me. What if our 'chance encounter' wasn't just by mere coincidence? What if it was something else? I believed in destiny, and maybe…there was something planned for us.

But after a while of pondering, I shook my head. Who was I kidding? Destiny? Us? What was I thinking? There was simply nothing planned for us, and there would be no 'us'. I was starting to get delirious about the chance meeting we had days ago. Maybe it was because I never had a serious relationship with anyone at that time.

Yes, it was the lack of relationship that made me think things. I thought that was it.

A few days later I knew I had been wrong.

* * *

After a stressing day at work talking to Parisians about England and other affairs I wasn't quite in the mood to talk about, I gathered my things and prepared myself to go home. When I was almost out of the building, I heard a voice with an English accent shout, "Granger!"

I looked around, and who was I to find running straight to me but you. You stopped running a few meters away from me, and tried hard to catch your breath. You smiled a bit. I was a bit flustered. Why had you run in front of so many people just to catch up with me? Was it because you needed someone who could perfectly speak English to talk to? Or was it something else?

"Hi. Finished work for today, I suppose?"  
I nodded.

"Well…are you doing something tonight then?" You asked.

"Not anything important, no. Why?"

"I was wondering if we could…you know, eat dinner outside."

You asked me for dinner. Was that a date? I kept wondering if it was, but I didn't want to ask you, for fear that you might get ideas. It had been a pleasant dinner. We talked as each course of meal came, and we sometimes laughed. The uncertainty I felt before was still there, yet…as every minute I spent with you passed, the doubts I had were slowly fading away.

After our first date, as I wanted to call it, we walked through the pathways of Paris. The city had always been beautiful, but at night the splendor was at its peak. It was a beautiful sight, the trees, the lights, the ambiance…  
everything was perfect. It reflected perfectly with my night.

You said you wanted to make sure I get home safe ("What if something happens to you?" you said), and so you walked me home. When we reached the front of my apartment, I stopped a bit. I said 'thanks' for the dinner and the very nice walk home.

"It's nothing. I had a great time, too."

I smiled at you. A moment later silence filled the space.

"Well…you should go inside now. Good night."

I nodded. "Good night, too."

I turned to the door but as I was about to grab my keys and open it, I thought the better of it, went back and called after you.

"Malfoy!"

You turned around as I walked towards you.

"What is it?" You asked, your face filled with an expression I couldn't quite understand.

"I need to know the truth. Why did you, all of a sudden, just become nice to me?"

"Oh," you said. "That."

You shrugged a bit. "Well…whether you believe it or not, I changed. Quite. And another reason is the fact that you're the only one I know here in Paris. I don't want to be stuck speaking French my entire stay here."

"I agree. It's nice to talk to someone who speaks straight English once in awhile."

Silence.

"So…will it be okay if we continue having conversations like this while we're here in Paris?"

I smiled at you. "I'd like that." After a few seconds, you smiled back.

"I'll see you then?"

"Yes."

I headed towards home, glad that I took the chance to talk to you that day at the café.

* * *

After that dinner we had, you invited me for a lunch the next Wednesday, a visit at the Eiffel Tower and the Louvre by Saturday and a visit at the Place de la Concorde the next day. Every single day that we spent together was magnificent. It was like I saw Paris in a new perspective. It had always been beautiful, yes, but now, everything was so nice and perfect. I wanted to see more of the wonders of Paris with you.

I didn't realize it until the next Saturday.

I had lived in Paris for quite a while, but it had been my first time at La Villette. You showed me to many wonderful sights around Parc de la Villette, and we had a marvelous time. We ate lunch at Le Célèbre Dîneur, a small restaurant just at the end of the street, and the food was delicious. By early afternoon we were headed to Bastille and spent hours looking around. And then, when it was about five o' clock in the afternoon you said you needed to go somewhere for awhile.

"I won't be long. I'll come back."

"Okay. I'll be here when you get back."

You walked the other way and I stood at the same spot for a few minutes. After twenty minutes, I got a bit bored and walked to the other direction, and since the whole street was full of nice little shops, I went around and looked in shops something nice to buy. I had a lot of fun, so I didn't notice that I should be getting back. It was about seven in the evening when I realized that I had to go back to the place where I was supposed to wait for you. When I reached that exact spot, you weren't there.

After ten minutes, I started searching for you.

Seconds became minutes. Minutes became hours. It was only about ten thirty when we saw each other again.

You looked so worried when you saw me. You rushed to my side and cupped my face with your hands.

"Where have you been? I looked all over for you."

"I'm…I'm sorry. I looked around the shops and didn't notice the time and when I came here—"

"Shh," you whispered, silencing me. "There's no need to explain. As long as you're alright, everything's fine."

I was quite shocked about how you acted. To an outsider's point of view, we might have looked a lot like a wonderful couple. I felt odd as I remembered how quick you rushed to me, and how you cupped my face with your soft, warm hands.

"By the way," you said. I noticed that the moment you said those words, your cheeks turned a bright red color.  
You turned a bit to get something that must've been slightly tucked in your jeans.

"For you."

You presented me with three roses, three lovely white roses. My heart stopped beating when I saw those roses. I looked up at you, and you looked away.

"I…just thought it's nice…"

I smiled. "Thank you. The roses are lovely."

"I'm glad you like them. Well…uh, Hermione, it's late in the evening, so we should get going."

I nodded and smiled again. And then I stopped.

For the first time, you called me by my first name. And as I remembered hearing your voice say my name, my heart beat faster than it ever did. That was when I knew.

At the city of Paris, I fell in love with you.

* * *

I was scared of the feeling I had. I was scared of feeling it. What if you didn't feel the same way? I was scared of rejection, yet I knew somehow…I had to tell you about my feelings. It had been there for so long; I just didn't realize it.

But a thought crossed my mind: What would you do if I tell you? Would you say you feel the same way…or would you tell me you never felt it and urge me to stop the feeling?

Although I knew I might be facing the worst rejection of my life, I still had to do it. I couldn't stand another day with you without knowing if you loved me or not.

I picked Sunday as the 'confession day'. That day would either be my best day or the worst one of my entire life.

"Where will we go today?" You asked as you picked me up at my house.

"How about the Eiffel Tower? I know we already went there before…but I'd like to visit it again."

You nodded. "Let's go?"

"Okay."

My fingers were quite numb as we walked. I was starting to get very nervous as, step by step, we headed closer to our destination. My heart was raving mad; it was like my heart would soon jump out of my chest and hop away. As we walked by shops, I looked at my reflection on every clear glass pane, seeing if I looked nice or if my dress was okay. I did that whenever you looked somewhere else.

I tried to look my best for that day. I wore my best dress and did my hair in a very nice way. I was quite scared you'd notice I was a bit different, but it was all for the better. After all, hours later I'd be confessing how I feel.

We arrived at the Eiffel Tower and drank tea at a small teashop. It was just then that I noticed how wonderful you were and how absolutely good you were to look at. I wished to see you all of my remaining days.

I smiled at the thought. It would be nice to spend the rest of my life with you, but it could only come true if I reveal my feelings to you. I feared rejection so much, yet…the reward was greater. If you loved me back, I'd be very happy. I wanted to know. I needed to know.  
I was determined to tell you that night.

* * *

The night came a bit later than I thought. Maybe it had been because I was too anxious for the night to arrive that I was counting every second of every minute.

We ate dinner and had a marvelous conversation. I realized that you were a very witty person. It was nice having conversations with you.

It was almost eleven o' clock when you said we should call it a night, yet I still didn't want to leave.

"Please…just a few more minutes."

You looked straight into my eyes questioningly, and then thought the better of it.

"Alright."

I looked at the beautiful Eiffel Tower and sighed. Tonight would be the night, and the Tower would be witness to it.

"Draco?"

You looked at me with wide eyes. Apparently, it was the first time I called you by your first name, and you realized it.

"I have something to tell you."

"What is it?"

"I…"

At that precise moment, fright took over. I was scared…too scared to let it be known that I love you. I was scared to speak of those three words. Yet…how was I supposed to know your feelings if I didn't tell mine?

"Yes?" You said, urging me to continue.

"I…Draco, I…I…"

"Hmm?"

A few seconds later, I blurted it out.

"I love you."

The look on your face as I said those words was unreadable.

"Sorry?"

I sighed. To say those words needed a lot of courage; to say it again would be killing me.

"I know you heard it, Draco Malfoy."

The silence enveloped us after I spoke. It was hard to tell what you were thinking at the moment. I didn't have anything else to say to you after that. All I needed to know was your answer, and you knew you needed to give it to me right at that moment.

My heart stopped beating, time stopped ticking, everything was brought to a halt as you said those four words.

Before I knew it, I cried.


End file.
